


Hand In Glove

by garfunkelandgoats



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, its pretty tame all things considered, mention of decapitation, takes place during bambi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garfunkelandgoats/pseuds/garfunkelandgoats
Summary: In which Vyvyan loses his head and the status quo is disrupted





	Hand In Glove

**Author's Note:**

> here u go anna im garbage<3

Although he’s too stubborn to admit it, it doesn’t take long for Rick to realize he’s in way over his head. The longer he stares at his pages and pages of haphazardly scribbled notes, the more Neil drones on and on and  _ on _ in the background, the more he realizes that he’s completely and utterly fucked. His stomach twists in on itself like a rag being wrung out, tighter and tighter until he feels like he could buzz out of his skin from sheer nerves alone.

 

Shit rolls down hill, that much has always been true, and so like a cornered animal he lashes out, he yells at Neil as he fights to keep his voice and hands steady and his eyes dry. Near-hysterical, his fingers grip at the edges of the paper as the words all blend together into a jumbled mess and a sick, crazed part of him wants to rip the damn thing into a million little pieces.

 

He’s still twitching and sniveling when the train car door opens and Mike steps inside, Vyvyan at his heels,  _ naturally.  _ Rick can’t fight the bitter twist he feels at seeing the punk dogging Mike’s footsteps as always, but seeing Vyvyan get momentarily caught in the door gives him some small satisfaction, for the moment anyways.

 

Rick rubs at his runny nose, still sniffling, as he tries in his embarrassment to stifle the panicked sobs. Vyvyan pays him no mind, simply plopping down into the seat beside him and offering a styrofoam cup. 

 

“There you are, Rick,” he says. “That’ll be five quid.”

 

He picks the sad, shitty thing up, his anxiety fading, sobered in the wake of some new outrage. “Five pounds for an empty paper cup?”

 

“It had sugar in it!”

 

Rick pays him anyways. Vyvyan splits it with Mike and all it does it make something in him feel even more ill than before as he rests his head in his hand, trying to compose himself.

 

“Who are we playing anyway, Neil?”

 

“Footlights College Oxbridge,” Neil whines. “It’s gonna be really heavy and tough.”

 

“Well I’ve done my revision!” Vyvyan barks, producing a blue book from seemingly nowhere while Rick seethes at his left, fumbling with the mess of papers in front of him.

 

Mike takes it, raising an eyebrow as he lowers his cup. “The Daily Mirror Book of Facts,” he reads.

 

Neil perks up and grabs the book, poring over it immediately. “Do you think that’s where they get the questions from?”

 

Rick settles back in his seat, sulking petulantly as he sneaks a glance at Vyvyan.

 

“World record for stuffing marshmallows up one single nostril,” Neil reads.

 

“Ehh, six hundred and four, Toxteth O’Grady, USA.” Rick blinks, incredulous and slightly proud, as he glances between Neil and Vyvyan, setting down the paper in his hand.

 

“Yeah, right! Uhhh, world’s stickiest bogey?”

 

Vyvyan grins and Rick finds that he can’t look away.

 

“Ha!” He’s unbearably smug in a way that makes the knot in Rick’s stomach constrict just a little bit tighter. “Tried to fool me. That’s Toxteth again!”

 

Rick can’t fucking take it anymore, and so he inserts himself into the conversation, weakly attempting to lash out again in the hopes that he’ll stop fucking shaking. 

 

“The world’s stupidest bottom-burp!” He sneers, unconsciously glancing towards Mike for some sign of approval. “Vyvyan, Britain!”

 

“It says Rick here.”

 

He grabs at the thing, distraught, as Vyvyan grins beside him.

 

“See, I’ve done my revisions. I’m going off now to stuff loads and loads of paper down the toilet!” Vyvyan stalks out of the compartment and Rick pays him no mind, too absorbed in the papers even to notice Mike saying something to Cliff-only-knows-who.

 

Hardly a minute has passed when the train comes to a screeching halt and Rick falls back in his seat. “Oh,  _ good heavens, _ what now?!”

 

“Somebody must have pulled the communication cord,” Mike grumbles, disinterested.

 

“Well it wasn’t me, matey!” Rick exclaims, then goes off on a tangent that is drowned out by the rushing in his ears. And then Neil starts on whining as Mike tries to calm him down and he can’t fucking take it anymore, can’t stay in the damned compartment another second, so instead he gets up and goes off to look for Vyvyan.

 

“VYVYAN!” he hollers, either ignoring or just not noticing the annoyed looks from fellow passengers as he makes his way down the corridor. “VYVYAAAAN!”

 

And then he reaches the open window by the communication cord, where the walls are splattered with blood, and feels immediately ill.

 

Starting to panic, he sticks his head out the window, cupping his hands around his mouth. “VYVYAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”

 

No response.

 

“Shit,  _ shit _ \--!” He mutters to himself, bouncing from one foot to the other, and grimaces before heading out the side of the train to go looking for him.

 

It’s a stupid fucking idea and he knows it but, well, he finds that he can’t  _ not _ .

 

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his blazer, he presses on, perking up when he hears a sound in the near distance. A familiar sound.

 

Vyvyan yelling.

 

Breaking into a run, he comes across the rather bizarre sight of Vyvyan attempting to reattach his own head.

 

The head scowls at him.

 

“Well don’t just stand there!”

 

“Right, right--” Too stunned to even argue, he hurries over and helps place the punk’s head back on his neck, standing on the tips of his toes to reach.

 

Once it’s done, Vyvyan shoos him away as he makes sure his head is secure, and Rick awkwardly hovers at his side, not knowing what to do with his hands.

 

Vyvyan cracks his neck loudly and almost gingerly, scowling, and Rick can’t hold back the slightly sigh of relief when it’s clear that he’ll be fine, so instead he leans forward and pinches Vyvyan hard on the arm, earning himself a smack across the face in response.

 

He means to nag him, is planning on it when he opens his mouth, but something else entirely comes out.

 

“I love you,” Rick says, against his will, and immediately dry heaves.

 

Vyvyan stares blankly back at him a long moment “Right.”

 

He starts heading back to the train and Rick watches him go, shocked that he’s still standing--unless he isn’t, maybe he’s already dead and his brain just hasn’t caught up yet--before running after him.

 

“Right?! That’s all you have to say for yourself?!”

 

“This too,” says Vyvyan, and Rick wishes he had any fucking idea what the punk was thinking--and then he isn’t thinking anything, because Vyvyan has closed the distance between them, and Rick can taste blood in his mouth, and it’s rough and both everything and nothing like he’d imagined and then it’s over and Vyvyan’s back on the train and so he follows.

 

He’s quieter than before when they get back to the compartment, not rising to the bait when the others try to start shit, until finally he gets them all kicked off the train by insulting the conductor, and the status quo is restored.


End file.
